It’s amazing what a difference two days and a change of venue makes. My grandmother finally opened her eyes yesterday afternoon while we were visiting.
“Gram, we know you can open them. We can see that you’re trying. It’s OK if you can’t right now. But we can’t wait to see them again.”
And after some time, and after minutes of twitching eyelids and hand squeezing, her eyes slowly opened. They didn’t appear filled with fear or confusion. Calm and patient. She is still intubated and desparately wanted it removed, but there were tests to be done. Last night, she tried to write a message to my uncle. It may be have something so important, he says. And it’s true, it probably was. But important to her could’ve been “I love you.” Or “Drive home safely.” “Tell Matt I said hello.” She made a big effort to whisper a very important message to us on Tuesday. What was it? Tell her granddaughter happy birthday.
I’m still furious about her care at the local hospital. I’m just absolutely in disbelief at how quickly they wanted to write her off. At the big hospital, there’s a lot more hope and concern about finding the cause.
